This is some full-moon love from a few days, a few decades ago.
I’m living micro-seasons. Super-accelerated cycles.
Two months of winter, for slow silence and music. Tears, goodbyes and a funeral celebration.
Then I hopped the globe, and bubbled and simmered for two months of summer. The sun warmed my naked skin while my identity imploded and composted a dozen times a week.
Then came 20 days of tropical bliss where the lightning stroke again and again, like a hammer on a blade. Charging, tempering with electric thunderstorms, the smell of dragonsmoke and the roar of waterfalls.
I’m now concluding a few weeks of fading autumn light, to harvest and prune. I make preserves of the golden juiciness – glass jars of long-lasting soul food.
Here I watch the red leaves fall on the Highden stones. Each one whispers its medicine : Choice. Surrender. Joy and Transfiguration. In a couple days I’m setting aside the builder’s tools to dive into yet another time zone, climate, language and flavour…
And I feel like I’m traveling with a bag full of laughing wind.
A bag bursting with treasure!
My head whips around, Where do I even start to share this?, a shiny trail of scattered loot follows my every step.
And who knows what will happen, when my hand pulls Something out of that magical bag.
I don’t know anything!
All I can feel is this current, running hot from my toes to my nose and pushing me forward.
Pushing us around – chess pieces dancing.